


It's the Little Things

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Brotp, Drabble, Fatal use of sarcasm detected, Gen, Harold is super introverted, Harold is very long suffering, Introversion, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, Reese can be a little s--t sometimes, Surprise doctor who reference, and a wild expanse reference appears!!, but you knew that already, introspective, its almost like this was written by a fangirl, reese understands, theyre bffs, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Reese thinks on Harold.





	It's the Little Things

Thunder boomed and lightning cracked across the darkened sky, rain pouring down in torrents. The faint scent of petrichor, wafted through the library, the dirt and dust outside throughly soaked. Harold Finch breathed deep. The smell of dust after rain, old and musty was extremely pleasant on the senses. Especially mixed with faded books and old paper.

He pulled a book from the shelf and inhaled. He hastily replaced it when a clatter and a splash by the door alerted Finch to the presence of his partner in crime.

He smiled slightly, and if Reese had less practice picking up Harold's subtle expressions, he would've missed it. As it was, John scowled good-naturedly at his employer's small and entirely too human delight in his misfortune. Finch asked, still with that small bemused upturn of the lips, "I trust you didn't come across any trouble on the way over, Mr. Reese?"

"Quite well, thank you for the concern, Finch." Reese ignored the squelch of his wet dress shoes and the puddle rapidly forming on the floor before he sat down in Harold's chair. He also ignored Finch's slight snort of annoyance at the prospect of his now damp and uncomfortable chair.

Reese smirked smugly at his petty retribution as Finch approached, narrowing his eyes slightly.

It had taken much practice, but Reese was starting to excel at reading the expressions of his reclusive boss. At first Finch had seemed closed off, reacting to anything with clinical aloofness or amused indifference. He was also one step ahead of Reese's blatant probing and careful hints, countering every one of his futile attempts to discover more about his employer with a sarcastic quip or a remarkably uninformative shrug.

The spy had just been laughably out of practice. In the CIA he'd had a talent for picking up on the character of people. In the months he'd been... Unemployed, he'd fallen out of it, and Finch was a case suitable only for an expert.

Finch did give signs, a hitch in his breath and a 'John?' was dire concern for his safety. A slight widening of the eyes was practically a shout of fear, a quirk of the lips upward was a beaming smile, and the whitening of knuckles on the back of the chair was heavy backbreaking fatigue. Oh, yes. The billionaire had quite a few tells. No matter how many times Fusco called him 'robotic' or Carter spoke of him as 'closed off', for all intents and purposes that was true. However, and in their credit, Finch made every effort to make it appear that way. And he was naturally, in his own words, a very private person.

Reese, however, knew that the limping man might as well be speaking a silent complex language that nobody else made an effort to, or even could, recognize.

He'd been quiet too long and Harold now stood next to him, waiting expectantly for him to remove himself from the chair in front of the computers. "Mr. Reese," Finch's features contorted into a frown and he spoke as one would to a petulant child scuffing his shoes sullenly on the floor, "I will be needing my chair back."

Reese raised his hands in surrender and stood with his usual mask-like smile. Harold's eyes followed his movements suspiciously as he sat down. A moment passed before he turned back to his computer and began typing rapidly, "We have a new number, Mr. Reese. Her name is Julie Miller-"

Reese tuned him out and eyed the billionaire's signs. Despite his annoyance (a stiff formality), the slight tension, and the usual nervousness, Finch was surprisingly content.

"... Of course this a very complicated algorithm, Mr. Reese. I'm not sure I can explain it as throughly as I want too, but our victim or perpetrator is integral..."

John smirked. Despite all of Harold's outward appearances, he was indeed, happy.

"Mr. Reese, are you listening?"

"Of course, Harold. Go on."

Finch asked with a carefully hidden touch of confused concern, "Did you understand everything I said, John?"

John nodded, hands folded in front of him and genuine enjoyment dancing in the telltale curve of his lips, "More than you know, Harold. More than you know." 

The computer genius eyed him carefully, wary of a childish trap, but finding nothing except sincerity in the ex-CIA agent's eyes, let it drop.

Finch continued on, and quite impossibly, his mouth tilted upwards in the faint shadow of a smile.


End file.
